the fire and the smoke who followed
by peachTSD
Summary: Eleven year-old Marinette woke up to find her cheek pressed into cold cobblestone. (In which a poor baker's girl inherits the bloodline of an ancient deity, a prince steals his father's life from right underneath him, and the gods clash in the sky as nothing becomes the same.) Cover image by me! @peachtsd on tumblr.
1. can you hide your fears with gold?

Eleven year-old Marinette woke up to find her cheek pressed into cold cobblestone.

The floor was foreign, since the bakery was all brick and the floor was never cold from the heat rolling through the building.

Slowly she regained her senses, awareness tingling in her limbs, rolling her wrists—bound by icy metal behind her back—and twisting her ankles. The thin cotton of her nightgown billowed before her, rips and tears in places they hadn't been when she fell asleep. Her lips were chapped and dry when she breathed hotly against the floor, hair spilling over her face and obscuring her vision.

Where was she?

Where were Sabine, and Tom?

Where was Tikki?

"Nngh…" Her voice rasped around her, throat parched. She tried to move, pushing herself off the floor with her shoulders until she sat on folded, heavy legs and peered around the place she was. Her heart thudded, painfully slowly, in her ears. Her hands faintly trembled from their shackles.

The room she was bound to was dark, with an impossibly high curved ceiling. At the top of the ceiling sat windows, gated and allowing for daylight to stream through. There weren't any buildings like this near the farm, and the bakery was nowhere near the lord's precinct. So where….

"Where…?" So she wasn't home.

Marinette could feel the cold sweat of dread curdling in her empty stomach. She _knew _she was in trouble, but her clouded mind and heavy limbs kept her from feeling and facing the fear of the dungeon-like room she sat in. Why couldn't she feel scared? What was she supposed to do in this dark room, by herself? Why was she bound? Where was Tikki? Her eyes burned with tears.

Seeking an audience, she inhaled deeply, counting to three in her head before throwing her head back and screaming.

It came out as a pitiful wail, warbling slightly before sharply cutting off and sending the young girl into a coughing fit. As she hacked and wheezed, tears tracking down her cheeks and pooling into the thin fabric of her night dress, she registered a noise other than her ragged breathing.

'…_Marinette?'_ A familiar voice rang weakly in her head. She flinched at the sound.

"Tikki," she mumbled hoarsely. A tinkling laugh echoed in her head, swelling in her stomach with sudden comfort.

'_Marinette, are you okay?'_ The god's voice was thick with concern. Marinette tried to slide her legs out from underneath her, before tipping over and careening onto the cold stone floor. '_Can you hear me?'_

"Kind of," Marinette croaked weakly. She rolled onto her back, ignoring the icy metal that pressed into her back from her shackled hands. "...Where am I?"

_'You're in the castle of Trixx, dear. How do you feel?'_

"Foggy…" She offered, closing her eyes and attempting to settle comfortably. "My head feels… thick," she cleared her throat, and rubbed her chapped lips together, "and heavy."

_'You must have been drugged…'_ Tikki's voice ebbed in and out of clarity. _'Or maybe this isn't real… The Trixx are the masters of illusion, after all. Marinette,' _She murmured in acknowledgement, '_Can you break the chains, Marinette?'_

Could she? Marinette didn't even know if she could move her arms.

The girl fumbled with her hands behind her back for a moment, searching for a leverage point to catch onto. She twisted and wrung her wrists until she found a groove in the chains, before pushing herself upright again, blinking to bat the tears off her heavy eyelashes.

She flexed her hands, feeling her cheeks warm with the sensation of Tikki's power flaring in her small earrings and coursing through her body. Flooded with the sensation of power she yanked her hands apart with familiar ease, hearing the shackles fall. Bringing her hands forward, she admired the bright bruising along her wrists before reaching over and snapping the chain wrapped around her left foot.

Slowly, Tikki drew her power back, leaving a chill in Marinette's limbs where the addictive warmth of her god's power once ran. She slumped forward, feeling whiplash. However, the weight that clung to her body was dissipating.

'_Do you feel better darling?'_ TIkki's voice mused.

"More… awake." Marinette's voice was still scratchy and sore, but her limbs were free from their bindings and the fog that had settled in the forefront of her mind was thinning. "What should I do, Tikki?"

'_Can you stand?'_ Tikki nursed power into her limbs, trembling from the adrenaline dips and highs. Marinette's head spun as she braced her hands and pushed herself onto her feet, swaying with vertigo once she settled her weight upright. _'Good, good_,' Tikki murmured.

"Why am I in the castle, Tikki?" Marinette asked, wrapping her hands around her small frame to retain her body heat. Trixx as a nation was always pretty warm, so where could she be that was this cold? She made her way away from the corner, pacing towards the center of the room where meager light spilt in from the high windows.

_'Looks like you're going to find out dear. Someone else is coming.'_ Tikki's voice pulsed with warning. _'Sit back down, and hide your arms behind your back.'_ Obediently Marinette sat again, quaking with fear and anticipation as, lo and behold, the door whined and creaked as it swung open.

She blinked rapidly at the light that cast itself across the room, burning from torches carried by four soldiers who marched in wordlessly. Behind them stood two women who Marinette immediately recognized.

The queen of Trixx, Marlena Cesaire and her heir and daughter, Alya. The two entered the room followed by four more soldiers, each carrying both a torch and a sword cast to their sides. The queen entered first, billowing in thin layers of golden fabric that cascaded around her. The veil she normally wore was upturned, spilling over her dark hair and training behind her. To her side came her daughter, a girl of Marinette's age who wore similar swirling layers of fabric that hung away from her frame, a veil cast over her young face. The two came to stand in front of Marinette.

Marinette's head reeled. Why was the queen here? What had she done do deserve this? She refused to cast another look at the queen and her daughter as they spoke in a language foreign to Marinette's ears, regarding her with a gesture of the hand occasionally.

_Marinette,_ Tikki's voice warned. _You need to be extremely careful. Do not call for me, understand? Do not speak unless spoken to. Both Marlena and her daughter are strong enough to intercept your thoughts and warp your perception. Do not anger them. They will not kill you if you comply, darling. Please, be safe._ And then, the tinkling voice of Marinette's deity washed out of her head, leaving her chilled from the loss of power.

She trembled from her spot on the floor, hands curling into one another as she was circled and watched by all ten pairs of eyes in the room.

"What is your name, dear." Her eyes snapped towards the queen, suddenly crouched down and wavering less than an arm's reach away from Marinette. Her gaze was powerful, light eyes capturing Marinette's attention and her presence swallowing all of Marinette's feelings and leaving her empty and dizzy.

Marinette hesitantly opened her mouth, croaking out her name.

"Marinette…" The queen raised an eyebrow at the young girl. "… Dupain-Cheng, your Majesty." The older woman smiled.

"Thank you, Marinette." The queen looked away and regarded the guard closest to her. "This girl is hardly of Alya's age. Are you sure this is the one?"

"She broke the shackles," The one behind Marinette said, language foreign to her ears. The young girl let out a squeak and immediately swerved to face the guard, holding up both the broken shackle and the ankle chain in each hands with a pinched expression on their face. "Most children cannot do that with their bare hands." Marinette's cheeks burned at the sudden attention shift, turning to face the queen with her head hung between her shoulders, tense in anticipation for punishment.

"Be still, young Marinette. No harm will come your way." The queen reassured. "I am not here to end your life. Just to ask you a few questions, okay?" Marinette nodded dizzily.

_Be truthful. _A voice quaked in her head, unlike the deity's voice she was so used to. She gave a start at the invasion of her mind, watching the queen's mouth curl into a smile. _I take it you have not had many people do this before?_ Marinette shook her head. _Well, except for your miraculous, I take it?_

Her miraculous.

She knew.

"What…" Marinette's voice wavered and she turned her head to the side and coughed, curling away from the royal in front of her. The queen still stared down at her, nonmoving.

"Do not think us foolish, young Marinette." She spoke again, hazel eyes glowing in the poorly lit room. "We do not ensnare children on the regular."

"Huh?" Marinette wavered.

"Not all children are like you," Marlena mused, "Not all children inhabit the powers of a miraculous figure, a god who was destroyed centuries ago, bearing the full weight of the power with no blood." Marinette cast her eyes over to Alya, to see the young girl had her veil pinched between her fingers, raised over her eyes to meet Marinette's gaze.

"How do you… know?" Marinette offered. Marlena smiled again, quick and thin.

"Do not worry about that, young Marinette." She pressed. "I do have a few questions for you, however." Marinette nodded again, dumbstruck. "Where did you get those earrings?"

Marinette jerked away from the queen at that, fear fizzing at her nerves. The queen only leaned closer, brushing a heavily ringed hand against the lobe of Marinette's ear where her ruby earrings sat.

"I know that there is no ruby production within miles of your home, and your family is far too poor to afford jewelry, let alone of this cut and quality." Her voice was sharper, devoid of any warmth that it had before. "So where did you manage to take these from?" The accusation was clear.

Marinette trembled. "I didn't…" She faltered. "…didn't steal them, your Majesty."

"Oh?" The queen did not remove her hand. "Were they a gift then, if you did not take them yourself?" Marinette tipped her face forward, hair cascading over her eyes to avoid the queen's piercing look.

"I wore them before I got…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say. Before she began hearing a voice in her head, ensuring her of supernatural abilities amongst the ruse that she told not a single soul? Before she was told the was the sole inhabitor of a power fought over for millennia, bearing the weight of it from the tender age of nine?

"Before you acquired your powers, no?" Marlena crooned. Marinette met her eye hesitantly, glancing at Alya for a moment before nodding. "How interesting,"

"My queen, are you sure she does not lie? She is shaking like a leaf," one of the guards grumbled in Trixxan. The older women glanced up at them.

"These earrings are not the ones worn by Tikkian royalty. I am certain that Ladii did not wear these before her passing. The gods must have chosen a new stone to inhabit," She ran her thumb over Marinette's earring again. "And it is a rather dull one, if I am allowed to say such." The guards huffed in laughter at that.

"...Ladii?" Marinette questioned, grasping onto a name she recognized. The conversation was increasingly difficult to follow; the Trixxan tongue a rapid-fire language, a a dialect of intellect and status. The few who spoke and understood it were the rich and powerful. She remembered her mother's friend owning a few volumes of Trixxan text, dense and nearly impossible to decode and translate.

"The last ruler of Tikki, and the woman who once held the power you now carry, dear. She destroyed the earrings she held with her own power and took her life. It is surprising to say the very least to see a poor child of barely legal age to tremble with the same power once used to move mountains." The queen flicked her gaze up to the guards, and Marinette felt the brush of cool leather against her bare arms as they suddenly hoisted her up into the air to meet the queen's level as she stood and dusted her dress.

Marinette's mind buzzed. What was she going to do?

"Now let us see these earrings," The queen rose both hands to Marinette's face, ignoring the violent flinch it inflicted on the young girl as she reached for her left earring, fiddling it with sharp nails until it landed in her palm. Next, she reached for her right ear. Marinette felt hot tears wash her face and hang from her chin, limp in the arms of the guards as Marlena drew away from her with her earrings catching the light and twinkling in her gloved palm. "I will tend to these, and bring them personally to Fu's temple to seek their legitimacy."

"And if they are real, my lady?" The guard holding Marinette's left arm called as the queen turned towards the door. "What shall we do then?"

"Then we have a weapon upon our hands, young and ready to be crafted." Marlena looked over her shoulder at her daughter who stood with her veil drawn back and fists clenched. "Alya, this girl is your age. Make nice with her, understood?" Alya nodded curtly, hazel eyes never leaving Marinette's dirty face.

Marlena's guards followed her out the door, dropping Marinette suddenly, shoulders turned as the eleven year old girl shuddered and curled in on herself. Alya stood, serene and curious as the baker's girl wept, red face wiping the cold stone and fists curling in her hair. Marinette sobbed, and sobbed and sobbed, long after Marlena's sharp footsteps faded down the prison corridor.


	2. smother, smother

"Tikki is on the move again," Plagg said, by way of greeting, perched atop a row of tapestry. "I can feel her presence." From the creaking doors came a hunched figure, a man wrapped in ropes of sage and earthy browns. The sun, caught in strips of light, cast highlights on the carved floors. Plagg saw his own face, among the other kwami, in the decorative floorboards.

"Plagg," The older man greeted, smile placid across aging features. "My old friend." Plagg rolled his eyes. Fu was a man of hundreds of years, and he somehow found way to scratch at Plagg's nerves whenever they spoke.

The monastery pulled with the breeze, carding through the hanging tapestries and shifting the bells that chimed with the wind's kiss. It was sat in a trepid state of stillness, silence that Plagg found deafening. He had never liked the damned abbey.

"You knew," Plagg called, "yet you chose to tell none. Why is this, Fu?" The cat deity was pulsing, energy beating across slicked skin and bright eyes blazing. It had been two years since the first bright pulse of power, Tikki making her presence known. And that morning prior again, an agitated and flaring _push_ that rustled the kwami and their vessels out of any sense of tranquility.

Plagg had felt it, a sinewy sensation that made him uneasy, and restless. The fiery god of destruction found himself upon the monastery of Wayzz the next day; buzzing with an energy and a sense of hopelessness, one that was atypical of him. He needed to speak with Fu, to understand Wayzz's anxiety, or perhaps his own.

Fu stopped, turning to his wrist to unravel the bracelet of sparking emerald. It caught the sunlight slipping through the ceiling rafts and twinkled, Wayzz's power warping its surface.

He had known Tikki had picked a new vessel, of course. A girl of barely nine years, when she found her. But he had felt the power, raw and unrefined, that filled the sky the day that the baker's girl took Tikki's virus into her body. That sent a fear unlike any other through the temple of Wayzz, and Fu was sure it was a mirrored feeling amongst the other kwami hosts.

"My friend," Fu sighed, raising his bracelet so it caught the light. "You would have felt it, regardless. No matter how dormant your powers are, we kwami and hosts are all connected. We share our center, and our source. Tikki's power is, unavoidably, linked to yours."

"Tikki and I are opposing forces, old man." Plagg sneered, turning his face. "She creates, and I destroy. Our hosts have never co-existed, and our nations never had lived in harmony."

"But now _neither_ of you have nations, yet Tikki's new host is powerful enough to incite an undeniable fear in you." Fu mused. "You are both raucous, and volatile. You both tug at the sanity of our realm, making change as your influence spreads. The only difference is that your powers reap calamity, while Tikki's powers offer construction and hope."

Plagg smarted at this, baring his pristine teeth. Tikki and him had always existed on opposite ends, creating spectrums with new waves of civilization that they could be against each other on. The vessels of Plagg and Tikki, destruction and creation, spent generations attempting tearing one another apart, and when that failed they turned to the bloodlines. How many massacres, of red and black blood, had there been since the start? How many miraculous wielders, slaughtering houses, burning nations down, wreaking mass havoc on the livelihoods of the twin gods?

Plagg was exhausted, millennia of fighting Tikki, his only equal, while the other kwami accepted ignorance and took to their own houses. They had taken enough human lives, eaten at too many vessels, burned through enough power.

"Tikki's prior vessel took her own life, for she feared Tikki's power." Plagg seethed. "Or did you forget?"

"Tikki's prior vessel took her own life, for she feared _your _power, and Nuruu's, and Trixx's. She was a woman overcome with responsibilities and a war that overshadowed her human capabilities and life." Fu spoke. "I am afraid that forgetfulness is not a trait of mine, Plagg." That was surely Wayzz speaking, the silent snark that he was.

Plagg snorted.

He had known Ladii. She was a goddess among humans, a fierce warrior without Tikki's powers and a gladiator with them. She was a woman of equanimity; the kind of fire that flowed through her was one that incited leadership and tipped the balance of nations enough for everyone to feel it. But if there was one thing Plagg took from their few interactions, it was that she was no martyr.

The Tikkian empire was a superpower nation of exponential growth and greatness. Each vessel was stronger than the last, with a heavily protected, expansive Tikkian bloodline. As Tikki's power was passed down amongst the generations, Tikki herself grew stronger. With Tikki's power heightened, the people prospered and expanded their borders. It was once believed that her empire grew so massive, that it would take the guardians of Heaven and Hell for it to face its feet.

When it fell– when the entire bloodline of Tikki was decimated within nay a decade, and the once supernation collapsed upon the heels of its neighbors– it was called a war of borders. The fall of Tikki existed in historical records as inexplicable world event.

But the kwamis knew better. There was something eerie about the fall of a kwami and their nation, especially Tikki. Plagg knew her well enough to understand she would never willingly relinquish her power, or what she gained from their generations of service.

"Tikki's prior ves– _Ladii_ was smothered in the depth of Tikki's power. How is an inpubescent girl going to be any different?" Plagg said, dipping off the tapestry and ebbing towards Fu.

"Why have you traveled to our monastery, Plagg, if you had not felt the quake in balance that Tikki's girl has recently brought, both now and in these past two years?" Fu countered, taking one step closer. "Why are you here, if you content with the way things are? Why is this eleven-year-old girl inciting a shake in your bones?"

"I don't _have_ bones," Plagg snapped.

"And my point stands, regardless." Fu smiled. "You are a not a kwami of patience, or of wellbeing. Plagg, you are the god of destruction. What is here that you seek to destroy?"

Plagg blinked, once. Anger warped his face, twisting his glowing eyes.

"I seek to destroy _nothing_, Wayzz. I seek to restore!" Fu laughed at this, green bracelet twinkling.

"You wish to purify the wrongs? I am afraid to inform you that you possess the wrong power to do so, my dear friend." Fu smiled, mutinous and calloused "You disintegrate all that you can claw onto. You reap havoc on the vessels who call to your power, faster than they can learn how to use it.

"How phased are you, attempting to warn me of Tikki's newest vessel while you shake in fear? This bloodless eleven-year-old threatens your fickle lifestyle and your ego." Fu's voice grew a note louder, the only indication of his emotions changing. "Is it not hypocritical for the god of destruction to solve upon a problem that has yet to be created?"

"The only thing hypocritical here is your host, Wayzz!" Plagg spun around Fu, gesturing wildly to the building they stood in. "These walls are lined with Nuurian spies, Trixxian money and Hive slaves. You have been bought into secrecy, neutrality, and silence. There exists no monk who is penniless, does there?"

Fu sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Plagg—"

"No! You preach self-actualization, and new-age discovery, but you merely are a coward who enjoys to sit and watch while war rages, and the world collapses." The deity seethed, fur ruffling in anger. "Why else would you have picked a vessel so estranged from his humanity that he refuses to keel and die, Wayzz?"

Plagg had known Wayzz for millennia. For the kwami of tranquility and truth, he and his vessels spun lies that were the thickest. A monastery of corruption that worshipped a placant, bemused god.

"Why are you here, Plagg?" Fu's voice is quiet, now, drawing more from the eerie silence of the room. "Why have you come here?"

Plagg huffed.

"Plagg," The serene tone of Fu's voice made it clear that Wayzz's influence was present in his next words. "My old friend. You know I care for you; like the brothers we are." Plagg shifted his bright gaze away from Fu, away from his bracelet and the shine of its power. "I know you, and how you have always held a heart too big for your empirical form. And I know you come with the purest of intentions."

Fu stopped himself, and turned towards the door. Plagg sighed, discontent.

"Looks like the queen of tricks is here for a visit." Even Fu could not stop the smile that made its way to his face. "We are not done here, Fu."

With that Plagg's body plumed into smoke, leaving Fu alone in the temple room, tapestries humming with the trumpet call to announce the queen.

"My, he was always one for dramatics," Fu mused. "No wonder he and Tikki never got along."

* * *

"You look as lovely as ever, Empress." Fu called from behind the raucous state of his desk, papers spilling atop his work and onto the floor.

"Please, Fu." She started, hanging her fur along the wall. "Your men took my weapons and crown when I crossed the border, along with my warriors. I am no Empress, on this land."

"You are an Empress wherever there is land, Marlena." Fu sighed, hand working away at his journal absentmindedly. "Your aura speaks volumes to your leadership. Even without your crown and jewels, clad with nothing, you command an undeniable, solitary authority."

"Flattery is not a trait suitable for a monk. Do not think I am here to blush under your pretty words," Marlena said. "I am well aware of your mendacious ways and misdirection."

"You've come to speak to me about the girl, no?" Fu dipped his quill into the ink, puffing on it lightly before returning to his notes. His tone was carefully light and his words were soft, but his eyes never strayed his page.

Marlena, unaccustomed to being ignored, felt her temper flare at his indignation and causal dismissal of her presence. She was familiar with Fu, and the games he played. And she knew that he was not to be dealt with like any other man.

To her knowledge, Fu was the oldest mortal wielder of the miraculi's virus. To call him mortal might have been seen a stretch, with a lifespan that far surpassed any of their own. There was little about him or his life that was known, about both him as a monk or Wayzz, his deity. Marlena had yet to find a vessel who matched their god as well as Fu did with Wayzz. Fu was made to be the one to accept Wayzz's power in his own.

In a sense, she was almost jealous. She knew, at an unspeakably deep level, that she was not a wielder made to fit into Trixx's fickle puzzle.

But now was no time to mourn her lack of compatibility, with a man who could bend her mind's colours at will. She knew that her anger would not go unnoticed. Few were the times that she let Fu pull his spell on her, and play with her emotions. Wayzz's power, the quaint ability to stabilize the emotions of others, was one that worked almost too easily with Fu's placid personality.

"I have brought her earrings, to prove their legitimacy." Marlena stepped from his desk and turned to her fur, reaching into its folds and withdrawing a pouch of sewn gold.

"Marlena, you have wasted a beautiful morning," Fu sighed. "I hope your carriages are drawn, and ready to go."

Marlena's brow drew, hands curling around the pouch with an undeniable tremble.

"You should have known that girl was Tikki's wielder, from the moment you laid eyes upon her," Fu murmured, almost to himself.

With angered vigor, Marlena tore apart the ribbon holding the pouch sealed, and watched with sharp eyes as minute shards of rusted copper fell into her waiting palm. When she ran a gloved thumb over the remains, they reduced to fine dust, billowing out of her hand with the breeze.

"The earrings…" She breathed.

"Were destroyed, the moment you made it down the hallway." Fu finished. "A kwami cannot be removed from their vessel's person, not in the physical manner that you attempted. The stone they arrived in is not the one they depart with, unfortunately."

Fu put his quill down tepidly, finally meeting Marlena's even gaze. "But we are both aware that this is not what has brought you over to our humble monastery, your Empress." At this, Marlena snarled, hands held clenched at her side and ruby dust forgotten. "You are here to justify your actions, to ease the mental guilt of locking a child away. If I know you as well as I do, you have sent soldiers to ransack her home and stake her parents as treasonous, no?"

"You know as well as I do that…" She stopped, feeling oddly level headed. "–Cease your meddling with my emotions, monk!"

Fu laughed, but motioned for her to continue.

"You _know _the Tikkian bloodline is not one to be taken lightly. These are mere precautions to protect my people, as their Empress. It is my sole responsibility to keep the peace."

Now it was Fu whose face contorted in confusion.

"This is your attempt at peace? You sound as if you are more concerned at protecting your fragile stalemate, with Gabriel. However, you merely jumped at the opportunity to take advantage of a Tikkian blood vessel, so you could have another kwami under your control. Are you attempting to catch up to Agreste?

"You care nothing for peace, Marlena. You only wish for power. Do not make a mockery of this peace; using the life of a child as a scapegoat to destroy the security of these times."

"Fu, we are constantly counting down the days until our hard-earned peace is lost. Gabriel has his eyes on Plagg, for his youngest boy. He has the peacock locked away, somewhere deep within his castle. He even has the Hive in his metropolis, helping him to build an elite guard that grows by the minute." Marlena exhaled, heavily. "Are you not worried, Fu? My days are numbered with illness, and my bloodline is small. I must protect what is most precious to me."

Fu smiles, but it does not crinkle at his eyes or radiate happiness. It is a deceitful look, even for the queen of trickery. "You must not understand, Marlena, that the kwami at our root are a virus." His bracelet grows with its miraculous' presence. "Your kwami is never at the will of your power, or your desire. You are _always_ a host to the undeniably vicious, life-sucking will of your God. It is the sacrifice you continuously make, for the powers you acquire."

Wayzz's voice was different from Fu's, unalike in depth with a timber that was peculiarly non-human. It was a trait of all the kwami, it seemed.

Marlena was not ill to their concerns. She knew, of course, that Fu held an undeniable truth to his words. And that the things he said were not new, about their tepid relationship, and about the kwami themselves. But to hear it again, without the grainy rasp of Fu's voice but instead the downy silk of his gods, chased an unequivocal fear down her spine. Marlena knew that if interfering with the balance of the gods was a mistake, she would pay a price steeper than she could imagine in her wrongdoings. Her grapple for power would topple the Trixxian empire, and leave her with a bigger wager to pay. This gamble would have a price higher than her life, than her bloodline, than her legacy.

But who was she to refuse it?

A challenge? She was the queen of Trixx, was she not?

"Do not let your pride get in the way, Marlena." Fu called from his desk, returning to his quill.

"Do not take me as a mere fool, Fu." She replied, easy as breathing. "I will be taking my leave now. It seems clear that I have overstayed my welcome."

Before he could interject, she had turned for her exit, leaving him to watch her gait; slow, but not without grace. Her shoulders moved with purpose, and strength.

She was a formidable ruler, but an Empire built around a God could never be held upright by a single queen.


	3. une fille de joie, une fille de rien

The last thing Alya heard her mother say before she disappeared up the dungeon stairs was enough to make her stay with the strange girl, guilt and curiosity pulling endless tears out of her eyes.

_ '__Make it be so that no one knows that the girl exists.' _

She shudders through a sob, wondering how she got here. How this girl got here, or who she was, or why she was here.

"I'm sorry," She breathed through the thick lob of guilt in her throat, hands disappearing under her veil to smear the tears onto her face before they tracked down her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry."

The girl had curled onto herself, head hidden between shaking arms and resting on top of her scabbed knees. Her crying bounced along the walls, ringing in Alya's ears and thrumming down her spine.

Alya had never seen the tower dungeon before; a narrow, damp, tunnel-infested fortress with more guards than the princess had ever seen in one place. At the edge of her vision, with a brush of her blood-eyes, she could feel the presence of archers, poised at the ready with needle-thin bows.

_This fortress is new _, she thought, running her eyes on the shiny brass hinges and firm wood doors, yet to rot and rust with the dungeon's climate. _Very new, and very secure _. The cobblestone walls were a rare sight, an expensive and unfriendly Trixxan resource that was scarce to her motherland. Most fortresses were built of bricks, clay and reinforced with steel.

_These kind of walls are meant for murderers and Nurian spies, not… _Her thoughts dwindled to a stop, eyeing the place where the girl's ruby earrings once were. How her shackles, thick steel and impenetrable, were melted and shattered. She hardly had any fat on her body, let alone muscles.

Alya was on her mother's side, in politics and ruling, as soon as she finished her first few years of studies. She followed her mother through meetings and councils, treaties and declarations, wars her mother avoided and ones she never lose, only could draw out.

She knew the Tikki miraculous was dangerous; a powerful, manipulative, volatile force that made the castle historian stand a little straighter, whenever teaching about the kwami and its' history. How it's great nation, a superpower that nearly held half the continent, fell in barely a decade. How the Tikkian wielder, a wild young general, had sacrificed herself to stop the Tikkian bloodline from expanding into madness. She had heard of the cacophony, the tragedy and the scramble that the remaining nations, Trixx included, had to fix to restore a semblance of peace to the continent.

Then Tikki went into hiding, and they had spent decades searching for any leftover blood, any sign of the kwami of creation.

They murdered all of House of Tikki, her bloodline, and every living soul in her capital.

Trixx and Nuruu had built their century-old alliance on that tragedy, a rickety and weak neutrality agreement under the fear of Tikki's reemergence. It was the same ghost of an alliance that her mother held with the King of Nuruu.

_This girl _, Alya tossed her veil over her thick hair and down her back, leaning forward to peer at the girl's bright eyes. _This girl, is the next Tikkian. _

"What is… What's your name?" Alya tried, in commoner's tongue. Her grasp of the language was weak, and her mother would scold her for tripping over the harsh sounds and hard curls, but she knew that the girl was from the bordertown of neutral land.

The girl's eyes snapped to Alya, and she stared owlishly, blinking once, twice.

"Marinette…" She murmured, the dryness of her throat scratching along her accent.

* * *

"Ma-rinette?" The strange princess tried, twisting her tongue around Marinette's name.

It was sharp and foreign, unlike the warm, musical flow of her name off her mother's tongue, or the lilt and soft consonants of her father's smooth voice. It was nothing like the ringing baritone of her neighbor, or the honeyed, accented rasp of her grandmother…

Where were they? Where were Tom, and Sabine?

The Queen of Trixx had been little help. Her golden, all-seeing eyes blazed behind Marinette's eyelids, the memory of the Queen's soft hands against her face sent a new wave of goosebumps dancing across her skin, the phantom sensation lingering in whispers of touch.

She tossed her head to the side, reminiscent of the cool metal kiss of her earrings, feeling empty without them.

_I still exist with you, Marinette. _Tikki's voice commanded her thoughts away, warm and encompassing her mind. _Do not fear for your jewelry, it does little to bind us anymore. _

"I am Alya," The Trixxan princess went on, leaning forward with the palm of her hands. Marinette stared at her face, her red and puffy eyes, wondering what she was crying for.

Marinette tuned out Alya, enamored in the images of her mother, father, posessively spinning their voices through her mind. Their bakery, her bedroom, the garden…

Where were they? Were they okay? Why was Marinette alone?

Suddenly the tears she had fought so hard to breathe away came rolling back, blurring the young princess's distressed face. It was better that way, free from her eyes of pure gold and liquid pity.

'_Marinette', _Tikki's voice came, a tassel of strength in the young girl's tumultuous thoughts. ' _Marinette, Marinette'. _Warmth curled at her fingers and pooled in her chest, enveloping her in the artificial embrace of her kwami's powers.

'_These tears are for naught, my child. Wear yourself strong, and steadfast. I am here, to protect you and give to you whatever it is you may need.' _ Tikki's voice was unusually riveting. Was this more of the god's seemingly endless powers?

"Tikki," Marinette murmured, burying her face in the damp skin of her knees. Curled up like this, power lazily swimming through her limbs and sitting tepidly at her fingertips, Marinette could not verbalize the foreign feeling that sat in her. A push, a stir, a shiver…

Rather, it was pull. Her fingers thrummed and trembled as she unwrapped her body, sitting and staring at her hands. Forgotten was the onlooking Trixxian princess, her thick accent and pitiful eyes long lost as Marinette's world came down to her hands. Small, dirtied and cold, and overflowing. They were alive with Tikki's power, bubbling and bursting at her fingertips and she was full, so uncomfortably full of power she needed to let it go—

She drew her fingers together, tears crusting ruby in her eyes as she pressed and pulled at the scarlet between her fingers, meddling with the pure energy that buzzed and crackled with the stimulation.

It thickened, bright red molasses that hardened and sharpened as she worked it. Her breathing eased, fears and cries forgotten to the humid, encompassing mass of energy that was Tikki's power.

'_There you go, child'. _Tikki's maternal voice resonated with her strength. ' _Let your fears fade, let them crumble. No one owns you, Marinette, or this power you possess. No mundane jewelry can keep this from you, my girl.' _

It had not been nary a minute, before the ruby mass between her hands solidified, warm with her work and sparkling in the dim light. It was a trinket, winged and heavy in the palm of her hand.

The bird was delicate, fluttering wings carved sharply in the solid form of Tikki's power. Its beak was tucked in and neck tapered, curled into an figure of ultimate submission. Marinette's throat clogged as she marveled at the replica swan in her hands, turning it around in her palms with a shuddering tenderness.

It was gorgeous, undeniably striking in its royal rouge.

But how could it beat the original?

"Papa…" Marinette choked, overwhelmed with the resurging loneliness, and smiling faces of her father. Baking was what his heart called for, but his hands were deft in their size. He whittled woods and shaped steels, crafting trinkets, household items and Marinette's toys. He made her dolls wood who stood stock still, boats and sails to throw across fields and rivers, and her desk, bed and chairs for her room. When she turned ten, nary a year under Tikki's influence, he had gifted her a swan of glass.

In testimony to who she was, the first thing Marinette had done in her joy, was drop the seemingly delicate figurine. It kissed the cobblestone and rolled to face her, detailed wings and soft beak intact. Her father had laughed at her frantic antics and rolling apologies, assuring her that her strength of ten years was not enough to crumble the bird.

_ '__Its neck may be curled into submission, my girl, but this swan will not break. It will not accept defeat that easily.' _

Now it sat in her scarred and shaking palms, a fleshy dahlia hue that hummed with its power. Long gone was her father, or his baker's hands, or his crinkled, kind eyes or his mischievous, clandestine smile—

"What is that?" The Trixxian princess shook Marinette out of her stupor. She was a breath away from the baker girl, fingers near brushing the tip of Marinette's trinket. Instinctively, she started, torn between bringing it closer to her chest or drawing it out of the Princess's reach. The swan slid through Marinette's indecisive fingers, careening to the cobblestone floors.

To the surprise of both girls, however, instead of striking the stone and bouncing off of it, the swan oozed and melted into the touch of the cold floor. Disregarding its figure, it settled into a lazy, liquid form.

"What… Is that?" The princess breathed again. She reached for the liquid, curiosity wound into her every joint and movement. To her surprise, the blood-coloured fluid slid out of her range, settling into the cobblestone. When she rested her hand on its surface, the remains of the swan crumbled into persimmon ashes.

A thick moment sat between the two girls, staring at each other with dried tears and wide eyes. The guards at the door, unaware of the interaction, filled the silence with hardly a shuffle of the armour, or a twitch of the sword.

It was Alya who broke first, excitement doing little to stop the barrier of language between the two girls. Her words were a frantic mess of Trixxan and commoner's tongue, rapid-fire and loud. "What was– t_ hat was so spectacular– _Where did it _– I can't believe it!" _She effervesced, hands moving to reminisce the shape. "How did you– _that bird was so beautiful and you just made it, out of nothing!" _Marinette, unfamiliar with her foreign words, blinked and stared at her hands.

The warmth was… Not gone. Settled, perhaps, evident in her thick pulse and warm thighs against the too-cold stone. She could pinpoint the current of power, track its melodical trance, and the lull she felt after focusing on it for too long. Her hands, as she examined them, were no longer dripping and sparking with the too-full feeling of Tikki's power, but warmed with the exertion. She felt a foreign feeling of satisfaction.

"Marinette," The princess startled the commoner out of her thoughts, hands reaching out to grab the other girls, wrapping their fingers together. The innocent intimacy of the action frightened Marinette, especially when she found herself unwilling to pull her hands away.

"That was..._ Oh, what's the word… _Ama...Amazing!" Alya struggled to wrap her tongue around the word, never breaking eye contact. "How did you… How?"

"...I don't know…" Marinette hiccuped, voice hoarse. "I just… Did it?"

"It was amazing! You were– It just– Amazing!" The closer guard turned to look at the girls, and Marinette swallowed loudly. Alya shot them a quick glance and a pinched facial expression, and they rolled their eyes at the girls. Alya's next words were notably quieter, leaning in close as if to share a secret.

"Can you… Show me? Show me?" Marinette glanced away from the princess's heavy golden gaze, squinting at her hands as if to will it to happen again. Or perhaps, to will it away.

"Your … Your mother would find out, and she…" Marinette looked back up, shaking her head slightly. She moved to pull her hands out of Alya's and was notably surprised when the princess held on, firmer than before.

"I don't talk," She whispered, unveiled eyes projecting her feelings as far as she could. She understood little of Marinette's muttering, but the commoner's word for _mother _was too close to Trixxan for her to miss.

She was no master wielder of her nation's illusions yet, unable to craft full immersive optic and mental phantasms like her mother could with Trixx, but if she could send a message…

* * *

Marinette's thoughts were flowing, rampant and rambling, when she felt the kiss of gold in the corner of her mind. She froze, unable to process the slow, rolling warmth, pressing shadow-touches over her conscious and unfurling in a thick blanket of kindness. Of peace. Of safety.

The imagery revealed itself, settling into the space behind her eyelids and rendering her attention. Her hands were still bound with the foreign princesses's, and Tikki's power still weighed in her bones, but she was captive of the mirage.

_Safety. Protection. Warmth. _

Marinette opened her eyes, unaware she'd closed them.

_Friendship. _

She looked at the girl in front of her, really, truly trying to understand. The illusion was not absolute; it flickered, weakening and swaying when Marinette focused her attention to it. It was like Marlena's words, the same way they sat at the forefront of her mind, commanding all of her absolute attention.

But it was different. Softer, kinder, a gentle haze that sat over her fears and protected her from the chilling memory of Marlena's gaze. Her swan, she saw it wrapped in the film of the illusion, wings unfurled and neck straightened with pride.

This was Alya's power, it seemed.

_Don't tell anyone. _

Marinette squeezed the hands in front of her, the swan scintillating before becoming more lustrous than before.

_Promise _.


	4. gods' creation

"Tikki?" Marinette breathes, in the dead of the night.

_My girl, _comes the murmur of the god, a moment later. Outside the door, the torch-lit hallway casts dancing shadows along Marinette's bare legs, playing and prancing into her hair.

"Tell me a story?" She murmurs, rolling over onto her back to peer into the slit in the tower skyline. Lying on her back, moonlight washed over her face. Liquid starlight pooled around her, encasing her in the safety of the night.

Here, in the silence in her tower fortress, she was free from the burning gold of Marlena's eyes.

_A story? You have not asked in quite a while._ Tikki mused, but it wasn't a no. _What kind of story, Marinette?_

"Anything," Marinette offered after a reprise, because she didn't think that Tikki would comply to her childish request. It _had_ been some time since Tikki and Marinette spent their time sitting by the river, Marinette doing her chores while Tikki filled her head with stories of ancient heroes, timeless battles, immortal-like powers and the wielders of old. The fantasy world she had invited Marinette into began with the prophecies of her former wielders, the torch being handed through legacies and legends alike.

And now, it sat in Marinette's hands.

And Marinette, of merely fourteen years, sat in a tower dungeon.

_Perhaps… There is a story I have yet to tell you. _Tikki's words held a tone of uncertainty, unfamiliar to her honey-ed, maternal voice.

"About the… Old days?" Marinette was unsure what to call it; the hundreds of years before she was born, the stories of Tikki's centuries of existence, galavant tales of power and the history of the nations.

_Indeed, Marinette. Perhaps, even before those days._ Tikki surmised. _The story is one that starts the rest of them, a preface to my legacy._

"About what?" The young girl shifted, shivering. She was unsure if the could blame her goosebumps on the cold, sitting in the thick of a Trixxian summer.

_The story of my… Creation. _At Marinette's silence, Tikki continued, albeit with hesitance. _I am old, but not eternal. As all things in this life, I was created, as were the other kwamis._

"You don't talk much about the other kwamis, except for…"

_Plagg, yes. My equal._ Tikki was quiet for a while. _He and I coexist, but I have told you about that. _The word 'equal' was new to Marinette, and she silently brewed over it for a moment. She was familiar with the stories of the kwami of destruction, but equality had never been a word equated with his and Tikki's relationship.

"Can you… Tell me about it? Your creation?" Marinette could feel the hesitance from her kwami, the fear rummaging in her chest a testimony to Tikki's story.

_My dear child, I will tell you, as you are the one who will shape the future. My history is yours. If you wish to know my origins, then that is what I must share._

Marinette was aware of Tikki's statute as a god, one of the great seven deities that ruled over the world that she lived in. To hold Tikki's power as her own meant she too would leave an undeniable mark on history. Whether it be good or not, the next predecessor of Tikki's fallen empire would be impossible to ignore. So it was through these moments, lying in the company of the stars, and her benevolent god, that Marinette deemed herself a truly lucky girl.

But, before her god started her tale, Tikki hesitated.

_This began, over four thousand years ago. Long before anything sat where we are today. Before the Earth took its first breath, before man's first step imprinted the virgin soil. This was before everything. That is the universe where Plagg and I came to be._

"Came… to be?" Marinette asked. "I thought you said you were created?"

_It is… Difficult to explain my existence in mortal terms. I had always existed, pieces of my subconscious and my power fluttering through the universe, but ever present. It was a defined point in time that I began… Existing, I suppose. _Tikki struggled to find the words, while Marinette tried to imagine a world without gods. _Plagg and I understood our collective consciousness at the same time, as we have always needed the other to survive. _

This was familiar to Marinette. The kwamis of creation and destruction, existing in balance and par with one another. Tikki held no power without Plagg, and Plagg no prowess without Tikki. For Marinette to have Tikki has her miraculous deity, another soul must hold Plagg's power within their skin.

"So it was just the two of you, at first? What about the other kwami?"

_They come later on, but to explain them I must finish. Plagg and I are the twin deities of matter. What I create, he destroys. When we came into this universe, we crafted the skies, the land and the sea. I birthed the stars and the swell of the Earth, while Plagg struck the soil to create the mountains, and the sea._

_Him and I control the qualities of matter, and of physical objects. As such, you are able to create… _Marinette's fingers met while Tikki talked, spinning ruby power in passing thought, _while Plagg's wielders can destroy. When mastered, our powers allow for the permanent addition and loss of matter to the universe, but we exist in duality to create, uphold and honour balance. _

_When we created the systems, stars, and birthed life into this land, that was just the beginning. But for a long time, it was just Plagg and I…._

* * *

"Alya?"

"Yes, Maman?" Princess Alya wrung her hands together, poking at her mother's guards with her mind's-eye to see how well the afternoon meeting had gone. When she felt their defeated, poorly-hidden anxiety, she straightened her posture and folded her hand.

"You have been at this for hours, and you have yet to master the talisman?" The Trixxan Empress swept past the teacher and peered at the sight of her daughter. Disappointment was easy to spot on Marlena's wrinkled brow and almost-curled lip, while exhaustion pulled at her eyes and washed the shine out of her skin. "At this point, you are no good wasting your efforts. Cease this, and rest for the afternoon."

Alya opened her mouth to reply , but she saw the structures set up in the courtyard from far away, smelt the flowers displayed at the coronation hall and could feel her handmaid's restless excitement from across the court. There was no time to practice, with the upcoming festivities of evening, and "rest for the afternoon" was her mother's way of telling Alya that she needed to prepare for company.

"Yes, Maman. I'll go to my room." When Marlena turned to leave, satisfied with her daughter's public display of obedience, Alya grabbed her historian's attention before she fled the library. Pulling her words together quickly, she spoke at their mind.

_You never finished the story from last week Bustier,_ she offered, _and I've been anxiously awaiting the rest of your tale_. At Caline Bustier's hesitance, she pouted visibly, waiting until she cracked a smile at the princess's theatrics before she nodded. Alya sprung to her feet, winding her arm through the professors, and leading the two to her sitting room.

"Where did you leave off?" Alya pondered aloud as she threw herself onto the chaise, curling into the mass of pillows while she waiting for the historian to collect herself.

"Your Highness, I…" Caline stopped at the edge of the opposing chaise, hands wound under the fabric of her flowing robe. "It's a story you've surely heard dozens of times, and you must be getting ready for the dinner tonight!"

Alya contained any negative sentiments, choosing instead to wave a hand about. "You tell the story better than any nighttime tale from my wet nurse. Never have I heard the origin of the kwamis, the lore of their creation told better." Alya raised an eyebrow at her after a brief moment. "...And how long do you think I need to ready for company?" She paused, sitting straighter and attempting to pull her appearance together mere moments after flopping into a pile of pillows. "Please, spoil me this once. If I am to be queen one day, I need to understand the past of the kwamis, to better rule their future."

"I… Fine, " She grumbled, sitting at the edge of the silken chaise and withdrawing her textbook, flipping through the well-loved pages. "I believe I left off after the two kwamis of matter, Tikki and Plagg, no?"

"You had just finished telling of their equalities, and the universal balance." Alya smiled, eyes closing. "Please, continue."

"Oh, yes. The kwamis of Tikki and Plagg existed as the twin rulers of the early material of the world, before any man had settled and established society. It is only due to the blessings of Wayzz himself, that we hold this knowledge of our history. But after centuries, mankind began living and working in small communities. They grew comfortable, in the way they lived together, and it was only a mere tell of time, before things were to change.

"In the beginning, there was a small village along the East River. Inhabitated by the first Nuruuians and Trixxans, the sister tribes lived on either bank of the great river, and met at dusk to share their meals and join their community together. The north shore would become the kingdom of Nuruu, while the land beyond the south shore would become the Trixxan state. They were a small, quaint community. But the one who ruled among both tribes was–"

"The First Lady, peace upon her soul?" Alya supplied.

"Yes, your Highness," the historian nodded, then raised a wary brow. "Surely if you know the story, then it is a shame to retell it?" Alya laughed at that, waving a dismissive hand.

"Ah, it was mere a thought that came to my mind. Please, continue. I'm captivated," At this, the historian smiled, and tipped their head in thought.

"Of course. The First Lady, peace upon her soul, was the leader of the north and south shore villages and was responsible for all affairs within the community. Charismatic and jovial, she was a ruler of unilateral importance to the river tribes. Her and her council of allies, from both the north and south tribe, met to discuss troubles within the community.

"There was a day that came, when a man was to be punished for stealing from the north tribe. When the moment arrived, to decide his fate, the First Lady, peace upon her soul, hesitated and spared his life. The council was instantly divided from her nonlinear decision, while the townspeople were in uproar. To escape from the commotion, she fled to the mountains. There, she had time to reconsider her actions.

"She had chosen kindness, to spare his life instead of killing him over his actions. She understood, in a moment of empathy, that he was a man of little equity, who had no family or means. To pay for ones' actions with death was unkind. She strayed further and further into the southern mountains, before collapsing in exhaustion.

"That night, she had a vision. It was a lush, unknown realm that she entered in her mind. At the end of a long hallway, filled with portraits of strange persons, was a deity. Non-descript in shape and name, it bathed her in a golden glow. She tried to speak out, to call out towards the spirit, but no words were found on her tongue. She did not run, for there was no fear in her heart.

"And in that moment, she had the same feeling, moments before sparing the thief's life. It was familiar, and comfortable. She reached out into the brilliant light, and accepted the god into her body.

"It was the first time, that the deity of Trixx had ever accepted a human. For the next three days she stayed, deep in the mountains south of the East River tribes, learning about the kindness and empathy that a just ruler was to employ. She understood the desperation of loss, and of suffering. With Trixx's knowledge and power within her body, she returned to her village to find uproar.

"In her absence, her closest friend, a man of the northern tribe, had stepped into her role of leadership, and executed the thief whom she had spared. In shock, the First Lady, peace upon her soul, attempted to reason with her friend, but she felt a strange presence from him.

"At dusk, she arrived at the summit where they broke bread, to find the northern tribe had picked a new leader. He stepped forward, bathed in a violet light. He spoke of a vision, meeting a god in his dreams who deemed him a just ruler. His people behind him, they seceeded from the community, drawing their line across the north shore of the river. This was the split of the once-sister villages, driving their communities apart."

"And from there?" Alya asked. Caline sighed, folding their book closed and uncrossing their legs.

"From there, your Majesty, the history of Nuruu and Trixx were never spoken in one sentence. They were no longer the kin of the First Lady's youth, peace upon her soul. Instead the stories were twisted, by Nuruuian and Trixxian tongues alike. What started as a poor turn of events tumbled into a dagger that was speared through the two would-be nations, making it impossible for them ever to reconcile."

"Impossible? Surely that's a stretch, Bustier." At the historian's pinched expression, Alya frowned. "You mean to say that a century-old mistake forever damned the relationship between two countries?"

Caline offered a sympathetic glance in the princess's direction, before dropping their eyes to their twined hands. "It is perhaps not as simple as that would make it, your Highness."

Alya was perceptive to perceived insults, and phrases that were dismantling and dismissive. Years of working to fill her mother's shadow had made her good at that. Her pride spent most of its time lodged between her next breath and her common sense.

Perhaps Alya's next words _should _have been angry. Instead, she tried to bargain;

"Please, explain to me what you mean. It sounds horribly vague, to think that the relationship between two nations can be damaged permanently, due to the errors of our founders. From my perspective, I am being told I cannot lead a nation of pure peace, because I am bound to seek conflict and war with Prince Adrien's nation, long after our parents are dead; and when he and I pass, we will pass this conflict to our children, and to their people as well.

It seems like a vicious cycle, between two of the most powerful nations in the realm. We are the bodies that hold the people, Bustier. How do we manage the relationship established by the east river tribes of old? Am I simply fated to despise the Nuruuian prince, his lineage and his people? Is my fate sealed, or is there an opportunity to change the current?"

Caline was still, while Alya's words anchored themselves into the sitting room. Before Alya could rephrase, Caline spoke, with a unique kind of softness;

"My dear Highness, you are merely a child," Alya's eyes flashed with anger, but Caline pushed through. "You have seen through the story of old, and disallowed it to define the kind of leader you wish to become. When it is your time to become queen, you may choose to rule the kingdom with a liquid heart, or a steel fist. How the stories of old define your nation is up to you, Princess."

Alya hadn't been expecting that. Despite knowing her time as Trixx's ruler was due, hearing herself referred to as the overseer of her mother's nation was as satisfying as it was alienating.

"Bustier, I…" She wanted to believe her professor, take their words and spin reality around them. It was childish, to wish for something as simple as peace, but beneath the dismissive tone of Caline's story, there was desperation.

What kind of queen would Alya be, if she could not soothe that?

"Thank you, Bustier. Your knowledge has enlightened me, as it always does."

The professor offered a smile. "Your words are a gift in their own, your Highness. Now, I'm sure you are familiar with the story of Wayzz?"

* * *

"Good evening, my beloved students." The open hall, thrumming with conversation and laughter, cut to a respectful silence at Fu's words. From his pillow, he could see over the circle of delegates, each dressed in the humble robe of Wayzzi scholars. While few kept tokens of their homelands as pins and brooches, most of the others followed the age-old tradition of shaved pates and plain green cotton garments.

"Have all found peace within today's activities?" From the rafters of the temple, waning sunlight striped over the circle and slits of light illuminated the historical tapestries, dancing in the soft evening breeze. In the balmy nights of summer, the monastery was always open to the current of air that ran through the corridors. At his question, a murmur of acknowledgement billowed over the hall. "At the end of the night, we often find ourselves sated of hunger and thirst, yet too often this leaves one with a sense of complacency, instead of criticality. There is no better time to reflect on our actions, learnings and thoughts of the day then when the sun has turned its' peering eye away from our humble home."

From within his bracelet, Wayzz rolled with content. It had been a long day, weeks upon weeks of diplomatic council meetings and foreign royalty weighed upon the monastery, dragging exhaustion into the space between meals, prayers and studies. With most of the fanfare coming to a close, a new layer of peace had begun to settle back into the crooks, where it truly was appreciated the most. However…

Fu looked to his right, catching glimpse of a fair haired boy, listening intently to the rapid-fire movements of a Nuruuian scholar. Perhaps it was a moment too soon, to relish in peace and re-establish the lifestyle of a lowered guard.

When his words had sunk in the space, and the silence had soured from contemplative to uncomfortable, Fu shook his mind clear of the thoughts of Nuruuian princes; but before his gallivant words left him, a voice to his left spoke;

"Master Fu, if you might entertain us with a story?" From those words, excitement rippled in the evening group. "It is a sound way to finish a full day, and there are tales that only the wielder of Wayzz can tell better than his archives."

"Ah, I've been locked between a request and a thorough compliment! To deny your request would be a dismissal of my storytelling abilities, no?" Fu laughed, basking in the serenity and buzz that the group radiated. He could feel the curiosity from the blonde boy, a welcome surprise.

If the Nuruuian prince wanted a tale, then so be it.

"No, of course not, I meant no harm-" Fu shook his head, bathed in the rapid embarrassment from his pupil. It flared from their skin, eliciting a modest laugh from the circle.

"Do not fret, my child. I appreciate the kindness of your words, and your compliment as well. If that is what you wish, then I must enlighten our friends as well, no?" Fu blinked at the young monk, watching the effects of his power settle into their skin. The excited flush of their outburst melting into contempt, and a syrupy calm overtook their posture. "What kind of tale do you want to hear, dear disciples of Wayzz?"

The best kind of asked questions were the ones with obvious answers, but perhaps Fu enjoyed watching his students squirm. The Nuruuian prince met Fu's level gaze with a practiced calm of his own. The rest of the students, either simply unaware or respectfully uncaring to Fu's intentions, were still in the balmy silence.

"No one?" Fu grinned. "That's perfectly alright, my dear students. I think I have an idea, anyways." Fu considered himself a man of good opportunity. A lesson could be made of any situation, no matter the outcome. It was a principle he abided in teaching his students, and in the structure of the monastery. In his centuries of life, learning and teaching in hand and in tandem, Fu had learned that the zenith of knowledge was sometimes acquired through humility.

He wondered what the prince would tell his father. _Would _he even tell his father?

"My dearest companions, tonight we sit with the Nuruuian prince, who honors us with his presence and blessings in these fitful times." The group of elites surrounding the prince fell dead silence before Fu had even finished. While his words sat in the balmy room, Fu could feel their fitful gazes. "It would be in poor taste to send them back to their homeland without a piece of our culture, no?" The coterie of Nuruuians was still, faces drawn and shoulders pinched beneath their violet robes. The prince said nothing, unmoving as he followed Fu's words.

"The story of Wayzz, our humble and benevolent god, is a tale fitting for such a night. And perhaps it is prideful of me, to assuage this curiosity with a tale I am particularly familiar with," Fu paused, breathing his way through a laugh, "but I hope it is satisfactory."

In front of him, he watched with discernable serenity, as the Nuruuians regarded their prince with varying degrees of emotion. Beyond their consternation, the prince was… Amused?

"Master Fu, it would be nothing short of a pleasure to experience the stories of old, especially from someone as erudite as yourself." The prince's voice was soft. Unfamiliarly so, in the shadow of his father's bellow.

_But perhaps it would be a disservice to compare this boy to his father, _Fu mused.

"As you wish, prince Adrien."

Fu had been telling stories for a very, very long time. He was very familiar with his strengths, one of them being in depicting history in the form of riveting, enchanting tales. His students often associated his anecdotes with a magical quality, citing the influence of Wayzz in how Fu crafted his folktales.

Here, with an audience to please, it was nothing short of a performance. Some danced with music in great halls, while others twirled spears in gladiator arenas. Fu preferred to spin tales, dancing words off his tongue. It was a great spectacle, a miraculous performance.

And he was performing for the future King of Nuruu.

"In a time long passed, there was a child born, the first son of the prestigious Wang family. Lords during the Tikkian era, the boy was bred to become the pride of his family, and an eventual figurehead to the great Tikkian dynasty.

"The boy spent his first twenty years in rebellious exile; he was to lead a life brimming with responsibility, but he cared for none of it. He preferred to spend his days in freedom, drinking, gambling, and living in extravagance. His behaviour was ominous to the Wang family, who feared that his immaturity would threaten the social situation and tarnish the reputation of his kin. He entered adulthood in the same manner; as his responsibilities and duties increased, so did his egoism, and dismissal of his social and familial role.

"A point in his life came when the young man's reckless and uncaring nature caused great harm; a mistake he made, causing the lives of a neighboring family's children. However, in the face of his actions, he refused to offer apology or humility. While he stubbornly clung to his ego, his family knew he had gone too far.

"As a result of this event, he was finally exiled from the Wang family. Stripped of his title and social status, he was humiliatingly tossed out of his community, and barred from all the places he had been familiar with. His family name was a lead weight in trying to earn him favors, for news of his exile was eagerly swallowed into the upper courts and all throughout his social circles. Hardly a day had passed, before his name was the talk of the town. He had no strings to pull, for his former friends and lovers were confronted by the Wang family during his judgement. Without a soul to turn to, the young man's life slipped from his hands in an instant.

"In the days that passed, the young man experienced an emotional instability unlike anything else he had experienced in his life. He had been living a luxurious, benevolent life, but in the streets of the great Tikkian empire, he collapsed emotionally. His pride collided with his shame, and the angers and fears he felt were severely unfamiliar. He spent nearly a fortnight in this state, and as time passed he grew restless, depressed, and manic.

"On a night three weeks after his public exile, the young man found himself deep in the brushes of Tikkian land, unfamiliar and far from his noble home.

"This is where Wayzz found him." In the dead silence of the chamber, the inevitable shift in the room always pulled Fu out of his storytelling. He took a moment, surveying the reactions of his new students, the cabal of Nuruuians, and their prince.

"Wayzz offered the young man a choice, an opportunity to abandon his past life and serve as the bearer of human information. Between the dirty, lower streets of Tikki and his tattered pride, the young man had little choice. He finally stripped himself of the Wang name, and absorbed Wayzz's powers into his body."

Fu paused, and graced his silent group with a fitful smile. "It was the first contact between Wayzz and any human, let alone one with a… Personality like the young man. It took weeks before the two could engage civilly, and months before Fu understood what he had unknowingly signed up for. For in that alleyway encounter, Wayzz had not spoke of his powers, or their side effects."

"Side effects?" A voice startled the assembled. "There are side effects to your power, Master Fu?"

Uncaring to the interruption, Fu laughed. "But of course! My pupils, it is imperative that you know of the dangers of using kwami. Beyond damage to the body or the psyche. More than the eventual destruction of the mind. These gods, who we accept into our bodies, are viruses."

In the balmy monastery, it was deadly still. Fu's words were no louder than a conversational tone, but they weighed heavy in the room.

"They are not gifts to mankind, for mankind has done nothing to deserve gifts. What good things have the humans created? Buildings and structure, to isolate and ostracize. Money, as a mean to create class systems. Weapons, to take life. Society, to create caste and power imbalances. Nations, to establish superiority over our neighbors. Bloodlines, to provide lucky born children with the lives of gods.

"What have we done, to deserve gifts? Humans are cruel, who seek answers to unnecessary questions about the world around them. Kwamis are convenient, because they answer those questions. But more than that, they provide a catalyst for humanity to become a worse version of itself. They provide a select few with extraordinary power, nations to call their own, and bodies of people enslaved to the ideology of their existence.

"I am an agent of this system. As are the other kwami wielders, new and old. We are the horsemen of a carriage of misfortune, and my poor human friends, you are the herd who get trampled.

Fu looked over to the Nuruuian group, at the young prince surrounded from every angle by unmoving, stoic soldiers. Garbed in their royal armor with the king's insignia flattened against their chest plates, lances and rapiers sharpened and gleaming, they looked to be his executioners. Fu looked at the young prince, unarmed and dressed in chiffon and velvet, soft face unreadable as he listened to the monk's words.

"It in undeniable that an agent of the kwami is not a man of his people." Fu said, slowly. The guards shifted in attention at those words, sensitive to perceived insults. "When we sign our souls and skin to the kwami, we are making an agreement that is heavily weighed against our favor. The kwami owe us no gifts, no favors, so why treat us as equals? They take whatever they desire, and then discard our carcasses in the name of newer, younger vessels.

"What is to be said about the people that the kwami rule over? The ones who sign no contract? Who do not consent to the usage of their minds, their willpower, or their beliefs? What about the populous, who are told to believe in a god that they can never see? They can never learn from? A god who will only service the person of the highest privilege in their society?" Fu exhales.

He had not meant to deviate from his story, but perhaps his storytelling skills were poorer than he wagered. He had the rapt attention he desired from the young prince, so he was too far gone, anyways.

"When I was a young boy, and made a promise of my soul to the great Wayzz, it would take me centuries before I was aware of the consequences of my actions. I am blessed with a benevolent, pacifistic kwami. But when I was prideful, violent and unknowing, all I sought was power. The greed I felt was gone to time, but only because of patience. Had I not been able to see the mistakes of the other kwami wielders, I would be incapable of learning from their actions. Had the history of kwami been shrouded in darkness, as it often is in many places, I would have never established a monastery where there is no belief higher than your own.

"Perhaps I would have died, chasing a power I would never find, in a body that was no longer my own. Chasing an idea of status, success and rulership, poured into my mind from my parents and the society I abandoned. Perhaps I would never understand the kwami I held within my skin, and perhaps I would have died long before I was ready.

"But I surpassed that point in my life, and now I am here. Because of this, I will never preach for the belief in Wayzz, for to you he is a name. To you, my humble kin, you know not of his patience with me, his millennia of understanding, the way he and I carved a relationship stronger than the walls of any temple we could build together. To you, he is no God.

"So how could I make a monastery dedicated to a kwami you would never meet? It could not be so. In the confines of this land, there is no belief that is right. Nor a belief that is wrong. You may send your prayers, your will and your heart to whomever you choose, as long as you justify it to yourself, in every step of every action. For choosing to wager your life on a mere virus is a foolish, foolish thing to do."

The room was eerie still. Tension wove its way through the silence, coiled around the monastery's students and taking with it the will to breathe. Between the coterie of Nuruuians, all eyes were on the young prince. The guards looked among themselves, projecting anger, discomfort and unease.

Fu stood, moving towards the center of the gathered monastery. His face untelling to his soliloquy, he smiled and motioned towards his students.

"My friends, the moon is high in the sky. It is long past the hour of contemplation. I'm afraid I've kept you longer than I should have. Let's continue this in the morning, after a full night of rest." Silently, the green-clad group rose, and began their way towards the drafty doorway. Winds swept between their robes, murmuring amongst themselves as the space was left with the monk, and the Nuruuian cast.

The shadow of silence that loomed over Fu and the remaining Nuruuians was deafening. The guard closest to the Nuruuian royal took a step forward, domineering and threatening in the poise of their weapons, but the prince rose and stopped them before any words could leave.

"Fu," Adrien breathed. "What a tale you have graced us with, on this beautiful evening." The young prince made a show of glancing around the room, taking in the tapestries, silk cushions and walls stacked high with tomes and texts. "I'm sure my father will understand it, and enjoy it greatly."

Fu speaks, drawling. "It seems your father is as understanding as he is loving, your majesty. I have to say, it's a welcome change to hear a kwami other than my own roaming these walls."

Adrien regards the monk, peering as if seeing him for the first time. "Your way with words do not go unnoticed, Fu. My nation is not a tool for your pathos. I am only curious as to why you take Nuruuian money, employ Nuruuian servants, and break your own rules in the presence of Nuruuians, only to speak slander on my nation."

"_ '__Your' _nation comes when your father is laid to rest, Adrien." The Wayzz wielder smiled. "And not a moment sooner, I'm afraid." He pauses, then draws himself to his full height. "I am no longer acting as an impartial factor between two war-mongering royals. If your father seeks war, he may have it. I am simply tired, my dear prince. You and your sister nation were once great allies, and now your father has disillusioned you into believing this brittle stalemate is peace."

"You seek war between the two great nations?" One of the royals chided, face smeared in disbelief.

"I am afraid you do not understand. War is not arriving, it is already here. There are old powers back on our playing field, kwami who have leveled continents in their rage. Between the Trixxian matriarch and the Nuruuian king, and their children turned into weapons of national protection, who is safe from the smoke this fire will cause?"


	5. enter eden

The room was thick with candle smoke, curling and thinning in the heated air. Seated beneath the dance of smoke was Marlena, deft hands curling words into leather bound books. The queen worked silently, accompanied by the smooth smell of ink, the cathartic scratch of her quill, and the molten, flickering calypso of the firepit. Her records surrounding her, a year's harvest to be filed alongside the years prior, as Trixx's nights grew longer and a new chill whipped through the country's winds.

In this space, without her jewels and crown, far from the eyes of her advisor, her daughter, her army. Far from the prying eyes of her enemies, who sought to consume every shadow of her sunny empire. Here, Marlena wore the mantle of queen, without the crown of thorns. Her study, the partition between her and the world she had yet to conquer.

Isolated. Protected. Controlled.

Her texts and scrolls around her murmured in alarm, drawing her attention to the dire situation in front of her. The harvest season had drawn to a rapid close, leaving her nation with minimal surplus to make it through the upcoming winter. They would survive, albeit without the luxury of excess to soothe the bite of the cold season.

Then, there was the subject of Nuruu... The report to her left told a tragic tale, of a desperate sister nation whose wicked winter and merciless harvest would leave them starving. The northern kingdom was not unfamiliar to its harsh cold, but her informant's face had been drawn stony when Marlena had seen her, and their anxiety was palpable even without an empath's power.

Marlena rolled her shoulders out of their tense hold, a sigh of irritation rippling the silence. She regularly sold surplus to the northern nation; Nuruu, for all its military strength, survived off of Trixxan grain and fruits. Her harvest had increased in years past, more land had been set aside to feed the north. At a price they oft contested, but inevitably paid. The price of a nation was a high one.

The food shortage was a mere drop in the bucket of misfortune, a bad omen served to a kingdom bewitched to misery. Marlena stared at her scrolls, biding the numbers to grow larger in a fitful thought. The year's harvest was pathetic, lackluster compared to their years prior.

Once the sun stretched over the Trixxian sky, Marlena needed a letter, signed and sealed, in the hands of her messenger bound to Nuruu, dictating how much grain she would provide for the coming months. If she could provide any at all.

The issued lied not with the potential food crisis, but with the inevitable calamity that would follow. Calamity caused by a king, paranoid and mistrusting. Gabriel was no stranger; Marlena knew him dangerously well. A sudden shortage of food, after years of providing? He would see it as nothing other than her attempt to get the upper hand in their elaborate, arduous dance.

What was the proper way to word a letter telling your tentative enemy that you would let their people starve, without starting a war?

There was a shuffle near her door, ripping her attention from her scroll as a loud, rapid knock pierced the silence of her chamber.

Then, without prompting, the door was flung open, revealing a haggard princess, a thin-lipped professor and a gaggle of guards. The princess was an unkempt sight, nightgown rumbled and veil missing around her wild hair. Caline strode in first, and the dark, wet rim around her eyes almost paused the words that sat in Marlena's throat.

Almost. "What is the meaning of this?" Marlena stood, hastily, knocking the scrolls around her to the rug. Caline approached her desk, not pausing to answer her question before she set a parcel in front of the queen. Marlena broke the professor's gaze, long enough to glance at the letter and feel the sliver of dread at the violet insignia.

For a long, sentient moment, no one spoke. Marlena stared at the letter before her, picking at it with her mind's eye and finding there was no Trixxan magic tricking her senses. The letter was no creation of illusion, not charmed or enchanted. And it sat on her desk, burning a shadow into the dancing firelight of her study.

"When did we receive this?"

Caline looked to to the door. "It came in the night," she answered, voice gentle. It betrayed the stiffness of her posture, the tight set of her jaw. "The guards found it in the Princess's corridor. Resting outside her door."

"A sole letter?" Marlena picked up the letter gingerly, casting a sharp nail along the seam and prying out the parchment from its amethyst binding. "When was it delivered?"

Caline exhaled heavily, melting into the armoire nearest the queen's desk. With a careful, controlled voice, she told the story of a boy; hardly a child, spotted between the rotations of the night guard's watch. A smudge of violet, seen between the cream pillars of the princess's hallway, no remnants of his passage left behind except for the letter. The boy had been captured, the professor was quick to add along, and was being brought to the queen's study.

"You are sure he has yet to escape?" Marlena asked, eyes flitting from the letter in her hand to the guards at the door. At her tense shoulders and smoldering gaze, they quietly fled the chamber, murmuring veiled suspicions as they left. Whatever was in that Nuruuian letter, found in the silence of the night, was far beyond their knowledge; their queen's glare had stated that loudly enough. At their departure, Marlena sighed.

"Yes, your Grace," Caline beckoned for Alya to come closer, unwinding her shawl to rest along the princess's shoulders. Alya had been quiet through the exchange. "They are bringing him now."

Satisfied, Marlena began to read.

'_To the Princess Alya of Trixx,_

_ In the name of the common Alliance, I hope your nation has witnessed a successful harvest as you enter these upcoming winter nights_

_You have grown into a beautiful young princess, fit for a grand rule.'_

Alya snorted. "How kind of him, to remind me of my looks…" Alya's dry comment quickly withered under the queen's pointed glare.

'_... And it pleases me to hear that your beauty and grandeur is the envy of all in the Trixxan court.'_

"Maman, does it really say that?" The princess breathed. The queen studiously ignored her.

'_In honour of your great achievements, and arrival at the age of adulthood, you have been cordially invited–' _

"Stop!" Alya barked. She stood, reaching for the letter from her mother's hands. She caught the shawl that was slipping off her shoulder, an unspoken plea perched on her lips before her mother fixed her with a familiar look.

"Watch yourself, Alya," The queen seethed, squaring her shoulders and curling her lip. "This is not how a princess acts."

"But–"

"_Pull yourself together,"_ She snapped, taking a towering step towards her daughter. "Is this how you carry yourself? Insolent and disarrayed?" Her near-snarl rested unsettlingly on her regal face, but the whispering candle light burned in her golden eyes. "I expect more out of you than _this_, Alya." The only sound in the room was the hum of the firepit, crepitating and dancing with the shadows all along the walls.

At their disarray, Caline stepped forward. She gently coaxed the letter from Marlena's firm grasp, setting it on the desk.. Gaze flitting between the tense royals in front of her, she spoke.

"Let us not focus on the letter, your Grace." She offered in the silence. "Perhaps it's not important."

Caline continued, soothing and deliberate, but the words began to slur and muffle. Marlena no longer heard her advisor's voice, rather a high-pitched hum that jittered through her weary body. Her mind was wrapped around the letter.

This letter was the reminder of Gabriel's authority, personified and incarnated into a simple parchment. A mere slip of paper that was more powerful than a declaration of war, more threatening than a frontal assault to her empire. The letter was more than the words penned to its surface, for it was the message between them that consumed. The time spent in this trepid dance was over.

Gabriel's letter was the rope that tied Marlena's hands behind her back, rendering her immobile to step forward. This letter was a move, impossible to ignore or to run from. Concise. Unavoidable.

Inevitable.

Marlena steps toward her daughter, reaching past her for the letter. At Caline's cry of protest she raises a dismissive hand, smoothing the creases along the parchment and continuing to read. Her voice was sinewy and smooth, sleek in the silence.

'_You have been cordially invited to the Castle of Nuruu, to celebrate the newest generation of rulers that will lead our nations into a brighter future, and will continue to oversee the advancement of this world.'_

Marlena paused, then turned to her daughter.

"Are you finished interrupting me?" Alya stilled at the question, nodding stiffly.

'_Arrange yourself and your court so that you arrive within the next fortnight. Your presence is imperative to the strength of the common Alliance, as well as the relationship between our nations. The Nuruuian people are preening at the thought of a visit from their favourite princess.'_

Alya's face curdled in disgust, rage settled in her brow and tense form. "Does he truly think us daft? What kind of proposition is this!?" At her outburst, Caline rested a firm hand on the princess's shoulder. Marlena's eye followed the protective gesture.

"A mere fortnight, he is surely confident…" Caline mused.

"...Or mad!" Alya countered.

"He is neither, my child." Marlena glanced at her daughter, watching the princess's composure flicker in the candlelight. "He is prepared. Do not crumble under the weight of his words." Her tone sharpened with rage, burning eyes fixed on her daughter.

This letter was a time bomb. More precedenting than the matters of the harvest, this was the end of their delicate stalemate. Gabriel's garden, wrung open to accept the embrace of his sister nation. A weighted act, shrouded in layers of danger and mistrust. Marlena cleared her throat, finding her spot on the parchment and pressing forward to clear the wounded rage of her mind;

_'Alongside the presence of your ensemble, we cordially invite the–' _

Marlena stopped, abruptly.

The letter slipped from her fingers, tumbling to the floor.

The words that she could not say burned vividly in her mind. In a sentence, the safety of her world was ripped away from her, torn from her as if it never existed. Every upper hand Marlena had was countered, in a single letter. Her kingdom of light, flooded with the cast of Gabriel's looming shadow.

Caline snatched the letter from the floor, dread seeping out of containment and into the pit of her stomach. She spared a glance at the queen, unrecognizable with her too-wide eyes and unmoving lips. Marlena was a macabre, a woman of practiced poise and iron strength. Discomfort was a foreign look for the matriarch.

"...'_Alongside the presence of your ensemble, we cordially invite the new... The new wielder of Tikki as well'–_?!"

"Marinette," Alya gasped. The fear whispering through her blood solidified into stone, weighted dread that thinned her breath and stalled her racing thoughts. "H-he knows about Marinette…"

"Your Grace!" A knock from behind the chamber doors speared the molten silence. The guards returned, stress palpable and radiating.

"Enter," Marlena called, voice solid and unwavering. The look of defeat vanished in an instant, and in the space between a breath she became a queen again.

"We found the boy," The head guard murmured by way of greeting, beckoning the soldiers in. Between their hands was a thin child, limp legs dragging against the floor and head hung. Hardly pubescent, with dirty clothes hanging from gangly shoulders.

"How did this child sneak past you?" Marlena demanded, gesturing to the boy, words bound with cold, meditated fury. "How could a mere child make it to my _daughter_'s door, while nary a single guard stopped to notice? Wh–"

"Maman, his face–" Alya blurted, rushing to the child and reaching for his face.. Before Marlena could stop her from touching him, before the guards could pull him away–

Violent, violet veins coursed along his slack jaw and down his thin neck. The boy's eyes were rolled back, ashen skin stretched over sunken cheeks. The sight that greeted the princess was a child's scarred face, mouth open in horror, eyes bloodshot and unseeing.

"Alya!" Caline pulled the princess away, away from the child. When her hand drew away his head slumped forward again, thin hair casting a shadow over his milky eyes.

The ballad of silence possessed every corner of the room. Alya's eyes closed in fear, Caline's mouth moving in silent prayer.

"You knew this was going to happen, your Grace." Caline began , slow, cautionary. No comradery in her words, bleached of composure. "It was only a matter of time until he made his move–"

"Caline, cease." Marlena snaps, voice thin with omnipotence.

"– But this is the game he plays, don't you see?" She gestured to the child, hysteria drip-fed into her tone. "This is what he _wants_. He wants you to react, to do as he pleases–"

"Caline!" Marlena bellows, face twisted in rage. "_Silence!" _The professor says nothing, lips pressed in a thin, impatient line.

Marlena begins to pace, wisping over the cold stone with authority and prowess. Her sleep gown swept at her feet, throwing violent shadows that danced and jumped along the walls. Her eyes were fire, stronger than the candle light that cast the study in sinewy shadows. They burned without warmth.

"I _know _what he wants. He wants a war. He did not bring me an invitation for a party, he brought a ticking clock to my feet." Marlena rasped. "And I will not coward and run from this man, not any more."

"Your Grace, _please, _be reasonable. There is no reason to go, to give him what we wants. We cannot afford the risk of losing the princess, or you." Caline pressed, drawing closer. "The best thing for you to do is to stay here."

"And let his call go unanswered?" Marlena raised a slim brow. "What kind of fool do you take me for, Caline?" Her voice raised with the accusation.

"The kind who does not see how much her country needs her," the professor sighed, an arm's length from her queen. Her friend, in a time long passed. "It is far too dangerous to leave, we are stronger here. If he wants a war, he can brave the winter storms and march to us. Let him come." She rested a firm hand on the queen's, wrapped around the letter. "Let him try."

Marlena wondered, idly, when Caline had gotten so close. Her breath was heavy, and a keen eye revealed the tremble in her shoulders. An ancient memory struck her, of a time when she welcomed the woman's proximity…

"I do not wish to wage war with him, Caline." The queen admitted after a moment. "I have hardly enough food in storage to feed my people this winter, let alone his. I will go to seek brotherhood, not bloodshed." She pulled her hand away, moving to sit at her desk again. In front of her sat her scrolls, a drafted letter unfinished, whose careful smooth penmanship belied the storm in the room.

"I do not want to watch my people starve, and I know Gabriel well enough to know he feels the same. We will… Collaborate on a solution. He must draw from his resources in the West, and we will celebrate a winter where famine takes no lives in either nation."

Alya glanced between her mother and her instructor, watching her mother glance over the letter again and sigh.

"Your Grace, surely you will not go for a matter as trivial as that. You are putting the matters of your lives, your daughter's and your own, to settle a matter like this? You will put faith in _that man_, to collaborate with you, after all he's done? You think a man who breaks the minds of children to deliver his bidding to you, will listen to a word that you say? Do you think it was accidental, that he mentioned the girl?"

Marlena stopped at that, shoulders pushed and chest heavy. She considered the way her daughter's breath thinned at the mention of the Tikkian girl. Alya's face contorted, adoration glassed over her eyes and her mouth drawn into a guilty line. The same glass eyes and guilty frown her daughter had worn the day they found the girl. She was the only person that Marinette would talk to, for the past eleven years.

Her enigma, the scarlet spirit of the strongest kwami. No longer a little girl, she had grown into a spitfire with hands that birthed whatever she could imagine. Even in shackles, she was a beautifully promising prize. She was the price Marlena paid, to get ahead in their game.

And now he knew she was real. There was no running from the loom of Gabriel's all-seeing eyes. It had taken him time– nearly a decade– but he had discovered what Marlena tried to keep in hiding. Now that the Tikkian wielder was known, it would not be long before he yearned for her powers as well. Marlena's pride burned, at the thought of her red child wrapped in the violet wisps of Gabriel's hands. She would never let that happen.

To stay, and brazenly ignore his bellicose call. To go, and waltz into the garden where they may never leave. Marlena regarded her daughter, swallowed in the brevity of the room. How would she appear, wrapped in the mephitic hands of the Nuruuian court? How small would the princess stand, a dancing flicker of light in a court of hawking shadows? Would survive even a night? Or would she find her throat slit by the end of an indigo knife held by a silhouette of doom? She would _never _let that happen.

"I know what I have to do." Marlena breathed, eyes ringed with insomnia but streaked with gold.

* * *

The shackles Marinette wore were brand new.

She rubbed her hands around, hoping to warm the metal that branded icy strips along her wrists, but the hiss of frost remained.

It had been a long time since she had been restrained. Her bitter resentment to the tower authority had changed, imprisonment warmed over with Tikki's persistent amicality, the affable Trixxian guards and a dazzling princess who kept Marinette company. Instead of brooding in boredom, she had pleaded for books, for tools, for _anything_ other than the cloying, smothering stone walls that bound her.

They had taught her how to fight. How to hold a blade properly, how to parry an oncoming sword, how to twist and dodge the weeping edge of a lance. How to read Trixxian, how to write her name and a few verses of prayer. How to muffle the effect of a mindbreaker, to keep the queen from bleeding into her thoughts.

It had been a long time since she had felt like a captive.

And now she bumbled along a carriage, the interior thin and naked to the newfound cold air that whipped through the slivers. Bound by her hands, ankles and throat. Refused a wash, or newer clothes. Wrapped in a cloak that had kissed the stone of dirty streets for most of its life.

The perfect image of a prisoner.

Trixxan climate was never this cold. Even in the north, the guards had told her the river tribes never felt more than a slight breeze. She had never been to Wayzz, but doubted they received snow this soon. In Trixx it had only just started to chill. (Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a memory of her and her father dancing in the snow stayed hidden. Protected, without the clarity of a dream).

Which meant they were going to Nuruu.

Alya had said nothing about their destination, the night prior when she arrived at the tower. Though she normally came alone, her arrival was followed with a small caravan, and more guards than Marinette had ever seen in one place. Alya greeted her with her normal bounding smile and radiance, but Marinette's relief was short-lived. She was quickly thrown into the metal cuffs, and Marinette was too surprised to fight it. Hardly a breath of alarm had left her lips before she saw the inside of her eyelids, collapsed into a golden dream so brightly-woven and auriferous that it stung.

When she woke, she was alone, in the caravan. No Alya, with her giddy smiles and sweeping tales, stories that flooded the tower walls with her burning presence. The Trixxan princess left an echo of her sunny demeanor in Marinette's head, the kind that resonated for days. Here, in the dim recesses of light, she yearned for the princess's glow.

"Tikki, where are we going?" Marinette rasped. At her words, the metal collar tickled her throat.

'_We have passed the border into Nuruu. I can still feel the presence of Trixx, however distantly.'_ Marinette snuck a peek out of the window, catching a glance at the swords strapped to the carriage guards before she sighed and settled. At her fingertips she spun small trinkets, toying with her ruby power idly as the cabin shook with the uneven path.

'_What are you worried about, Marinette?' _Tikki's lipid concern filled Marinette's head. The wielder didn't answer, snapping the chains at her wrists in silence and pushing the left curtain away to see outside.

The view that met her was menacing. Beyond the carriage and entourage was a sloped landscape of modestly crumbling stone buildings, smoke clouds and barren, snow-covered land. The trees that were scattered in the distance barren, absent of colour and life. The road they were bounding along stretched winding and thin, towered with a wire fence that was rusted from age and braided with dying vines. Through the wire, Marinette could make out the silhouette of a towering wall, curling around the outskirts of the village and disappearing over the valleys of land.

"A wall?" She vocalized, craning her neck to see the end of it. She turned to the outside of the carriage window, greeted with a similar sight. A stripped, grey village with a menacing wall that wrapped as far as she could see.

'_Nuruu has not changed much, it seems.' _Tikki murmured. Marinette noticed another wall, rapidly approaching the trail they traveled on. The carriage slowed, and the Tikkian wielder threw herself back into her original place, resting her hands in her lap and willing her heart to slow its feverish pace.

"What does that even mean?" Marinette whispered. Around the carriage, voices raised, familiar and unfamiliar. She heard the rapid toss of Trixxian, alongside a series of sounds unknown.

'_You will see, dear Marinette.' _The carriage door swung open, creaking and flooding the cabin with snowy daylight. One of the Trixxian guards grabbed for Marinette, taking her by the shoulder and guiding out of the carriage. She stood back, watching as new people moved around her.

She knew the Trixxian guards. Most of them, at least; the others were still recognizable with their bronze-hued armor and persimmon scarves, broadswords adorned with gold. The warm colors were sore sights in the drear of the scenery. Their uniforms, carved with decorative trim that Marinette had grown familiar with, were hidden in wraps of wool and thick leather. But even clothed in mahogany and grey, their brown skin and soldiers' piercings were a clear giveaway. One of the tower's older guards, long-haired and unsmiling, caught Marinette's eye and nodded at her. Another tripped over the smooth, icy pave, and took down two more in a fit of good-hearted giggling.

The soldiers surrounding them must have been Nuruuians. Their attire was silver, smoothed and rounded armour with thin rapiers attached at their hip and heavy cloaks of violet. On their breast sat a purple butterfly, wicked and crystallized in the white light. The oddest part was their helmets; what purpose did they serve, chrome curved, and unidentifiable? How could they tell themselves apart?

'_Unfortunately, that is the point.'_ Tikki, said, but provided nothing more.

The carriages had been drawn to the foot of the second massive wall. A fort, Marinette realized. Consumed in the swarm of silent Nuruuian soldiers, she noticed how few of the Trixxians there were at the stop. The bright splashes of gold and bronze were droned out in the sea of silver-plated Nuruuians.

Two soldiers emerged from her carriage, empty-handed and lamenting in a language foreign to Marinette's ears. She stepped backwards, as much as she could in her shackled state, and observed the royal carriage. It was twice as big as Marinette's, lined with gold and carved in a wicked beauty. It was also filled with Nuruuian soldiers, while the queen and Alya stood nearby, fuming and bickering in rapid-fire Trixxian.

As a handful of Trixxian guards drifted pass Marinette, she caught the tail end of their discussions.

"...The amount of people gathered is shocking, I wonder…"

"...So cold, I hate this assignment…."

"...What do you think her Grace will say?..."

"...Normal, the General's guard is unsurprised.."

Marinette slinked backwards, turning towards the wire fence. What met her was a crowd of people, pressed along the surface. The crowd stretched from the base of the fortress, weaving in and out of thin, pale-faced Nuruuians. Their eyes followed the throng of Trixxians, chasing the movement of the royalty and the beacons of gold.

If the shackles bound to Marinette's feet made noise as she sliced them, none of the guard noticed. Entranced, she took in the massive horde of Nuruuians. She had never seen this many people before; and hadn't seen anyone other than Trixxian guards and royalty in far too long.

Their faces were pallid, drawn and thin. Against the deep soot and dirt that rode their cheeks and skin, their complexions became near ghastly. With white-blonde hair slicked straight down their heads, and platinum lashes that drew against their pale eyes, Marinette had no idea any kind of people could appear as translucent. Their thin, beaten coats of smudged charcoal and ashen brown made Marinette's cloak feel richer than it was.

From their mouths poured a language Marinette had never heard. It was softer, thinner than Trixxian, and rolled around her in gaggles of conversation. The guards grew quieter, and Marinette glanced over to see them approaching the inner fortress wall.

'_What do you see, Marinette?'_ Tikki's words gathered the wielder's scattered thoughts, and she turned back towards the people in front of her.

They were prisoners, though they wore no shackles on their sallowy wrists. With haunting white skin and dull eyes, they were the ague ghosts of childhood stories and superstitions. Through the barbed fence, Marinette caught the stare of a young child, whose hands slipped through the wrenches in the wire. Her hands were smeared with soot, and cracked with the harsh breath of the cold, dry air.

"What is this? Who are these people?" She puffed, watching her breath roll in front of her. "Why are they like this?"

'_These are the people of Nuruu, my dear.'_

She backed up, pressing against the icy wood of the cabin. She ran a chained hand through her tangled hair, submerged in malaise that crawled along her body. The memory of their dull, milky eyes branded her thoughts and burned behind her lids. The Tikkian girl shuddered. She had hundreds of questions, clawing at her anxiously and her kwami's aloof responses only fueled them more.

Marinette's reverie was halted by the crunch of steps before her. A faceless soldier, tall and thin, grabbed for the melted shackle that hung limply from her arm. His voice was muffled through his helmet, as frustrated Nuruuian met her ears when he yanked on the thin chain forward.

Marinette scoffed, tugging her arm out of his grasp and taking a defiant step away from him. At this he grew louder, words rolling over Marinette's head as he tried again. She sharply broke his grasp and quickly darted around him, clutching her chained hands to her chest.

"_Marinette!_" Her head snapped towards the sound, seeing Alya trail towards her. Her voice carried loud across the opening, drawing the attention of the invasive guard, who raced to follow her. His gloved hand rapidly rising to rest on his rapier's hilt.

"Alya?" Marinette breathed, meeting the princess halfway and resting an arm on her lined coat. "What is going on here? Where are we?"

The princess's face was twisted in a veiled scowl, and she wrapped a warm hand around Marinette's bicep and _pulled_, yanking the Tikkian girl behind her. Marinette was startled long enough to watch, mouth agape and thoughts reeling as the princess turned and pointed at the guard with her free hand, gesturing at him in fast-paced, heated Nuruuian. Her idyllic voice was lost in the roll of foreign sounds and inclinations, and the guard responded in kind.

As Alya continued Marinette watched, fascinated, as the guard's posture stiffened and his hands quickly drew from his sword. He took a hesitant step back, then two, then gracelessly bowed his head and departed. Another sharp, loud command from Alya had the small crowd of guards disperse, murmuring in Nuruuian and Trixxian alike.

Finally, the princess exhaled heavily, free hand resting on her hip. When she finally met Marinette's gaze, her eyes were apologetic.

"Marinette," she began softly, voice strained. "I apologize, for all of this." She nodded towards the towering wall before them, her mouth set in a guilty line. "I wish I had time to explain, but we must get going again."

"Why are we in Nuruu? What's going on?" Marinette murmured.

"We…" Alya chewed her lip. "We have been called on. We were invited to Nuruu."

"We? You and the queen?" Marinette leaned into the princess, breath bated.

Alya opened her mouth, faltering before bringing her other hand to rest on Marinette's shoulders. Within the embrace of her friend, she whispered her next words.

"_You_ have been summoned."

_'The days in our tower are over, my child,'_ Tikki's voice buzzed in Marinette's mind.

The two girls stood, faces shielded from the guards and the screaming winds as they huddled together. Alya continued speaking, low and gentle, coaxing the tension out of Marinette's body and even drawing a startled laugh from her. The princess shrugged off her heavy cloak, reaching up to fasten it around the Tikkian girl's shoulders, despite her reassurances.

From behind them, a chuckle pierced the calm blanket that had settled over the two. Alya glanced over her shoulder, face quickly pinching into a glare.

"Surely the king teaches his knights a modicum of _privacy_, General Lahiffe." She spat, regarding the approaching knight with disdain. Marinette turned, surprised to see a young man's cheeky smile, rather than the smooth chrome helmets she'd grown accustomed to. The man's curly hair was pulled away from his face in a low ponytail, and the stray hairs bounced around his face when he laughed. "Or are you all simply inept?" The man towered over the princess, watching her with besument as he waved off the remaining guards dismissively.

"My dear princess, you wound me," He responded in the common tongue. "I came to make sure our guest was… Undisturbed." Alya's hand curled possessively around Marinette's arm.

"Guest?" Marinette raised, meeting the general's gaze. His eyes crinkled with his smile, tucking a loose curl behind his ear.

"Of course!" He beamed, extending a gloved hand towards the Tikkian wielder. "It is nothing short of an honor, to host the next Tikkian lady in our home." Alya snorted, but released Marinette's arm so she could grasp his. "Please, call me Nino."

"Are you making nice to report back to Adrien after this?" Alya sneered. "Or, is it perhaps the king who you run to now?" Nino drew back, hands raised in mock surrender. Alya took a step forward, pointing an accusatory finger to the general. "I _know _you, Lahiffe. You will find it best to _leave her alone_." Her free hand curled into Marinette's, fingers wrapping tightly.

Nino whistled lowly, shoulders slumping as he regarded the fuming royal in front of him. Marinette watched him, entranced, as he leaned in to her and murmured something in lilting, melodic Nuruuian. Alya's brow drew into a tight furrow, responding in kind. After a while, he stood straight and regarded Marinette, dramatically sighing.

"I'll tell you a secret, Marinette," he grinned, gesturing towards Alya. "I'm rather bad at listening to royals. A defiant streak I never learned to quell, I suppose." Alya scoffed. "And as much as I would _love_ a chance to properly introduce myself, we are due to depart."

"We're going to the palace?" Marinette asked.

"Nowhere better! But my prince will have my head if we're late." He nodded at them, passing a wink to Marinette before turning to leave. He waved to the closest guard, shouting something in rapid-fire Nuruuian that sent the soldiers around them in a frenzy of movement, packing back into tight formations as the iron gate screeched open.

"And so the dog returns to his master," Alya called, snarky comment rippling through the quiet. Nino threw his head back in raucous laughter, stepping up to the fortress gate as it swung open fully.

"I'd much rather wear a leash than chains," He said, looking Marinette in the eye. "Welcome, my dear, to Nuruu."


End file.
